Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Y-kun began his tale.

Though mention was just made of the Thirteenth Night, I too know a strange tale connected to that Thirteenth Night. It concerns the matter of a shadow being stepped upon. The children’s game of stepping on shadows is no longer popular nowadays. Children nowadays don’t engage in such trivial games. While moonlit nights might seem favorable at any time, this was confined to autumn nights. On evenings when the autumn moon shone with piercing clarity and the night dew blanketing the ground glowed white, the town’s children would come out into the streets and step on their shadows cast upon the earth while singing this chant.

―Shadow and Roadside Deity, Thirteenth Night rice cakes― Some would run about trying to step on their own shadows, but generally they chased others’ shadows instead. The opponent would dodge about trying not to get their shadow stepped on while seeking openings to skillfully stamp upon their foe’s silhouette. Others would dart out from the side and attempt to stamp upon whichever shadow they could reach. Thus three or five, or even over ten at times, would jumble together in pursuit of their own shadows cast upon the ground. Of course, there were those who slipped and fell. There were those who snapped the thongs of their geta or zori sandals. I don’t know when this game began, but in any case, it persisted through the Edo period, lasted into the early Meiji era—through our own childhoods—and seems to have died out by the time of the Sino-Japanese War.

While children stepping on each other’s shadows was of little consequence, finding this alone insufficiently amusing, they would often stamp upon a passerby’s shadow and flee. Since carelessly stepping on an adult’s shadow risked scolding, they would usually stamp upon the shadows of passing girls or children instead, raising a ruckus with a whoop before fleeing. It was truly trivial mischief, but even if it were merely a shadow, having something reflecting one’s own form trampled under shod feet could hardly be called pleasant. Concerning this, such a story had been passed down.

It was the evening of the twelfth day of the ninth month in the first year of Kaei (1848). In Shiba’s Shibai-chō, Oseki, daughter of the Omiya thread shop, had visited relatives near Shinmei Shrine and returned before the fifth hour (eight o’clock in the evening). Tomorrow was the Thirteenth Night, and tonight’s moon shone brightly. This year’s autumn chill cut deeper than usual, with many catching colds—so Oseki, adjusting the sleeves of her newly tailored padded kimono, hurried northward until she came upon five or six boys running about playing on Udagawa-chō’s main street. The voices of their chant—"Shadow and Roadside Deity"—also reached her ears.

As she tried to pass through that area, the group of children suddenly scattered and rushed toward her, attempting to stamp upon Oseki’s black shadow cast upon the ground. Startled, she tried to dodge, but it was already too late. The mischievous children closed in from all sides—front, back, left, and right—and trampled the fleeing girl’s shadow as they pleased. They left, chanting about Thirteenth Night rice cakes as they burst into raucous laughter.

Even after they had left, Oseki kept desperately fleeing. Gasping for breath, she fled and fled, ran all the way to the front of her family’s shop in Shibaichō, and as she sank down onto the shop’s threshold, collapsed sideways. In the shop were her father Yasuke and two apprentices, who, startled, immediately attended to her. From the rear came Mother Oyoshi and the maid Okane rushing out; they gave her water to drink, tried to calm her down, and then attempted to inquire about the details—but Oseki’s heart palpitations showed no sign of subsiding. For some time she remained hunched over at the shopfront, clutching her chest.

Oseki was a seventeen-year-old girl in the bloom of youth and possessed a comely appearance. Though it was evening, though it was moonlit, and though the thoroughfare bustled with activity, her parents imagined she’d been accosted by some ruffian—so Yasuke went out to check, but no trace of anyone who might have pursued her remained in sight. “What in the world happened to you?” Mother Oyoshi asked impatiently once more.

“I was stepped on,” Oseki said in a trembling voice. “Who stepped on you?” “When I passed through Udagawa-chō, the children chanting ‘shadow and roadside deity’ stepped on my shadow…” “What?” Yasuke laughed with a hollow chuckle. “What’s so bad about that? “Who’d make such a fuss?” “Shadows and roadside deities aren’t anything to fuss over!” “There’s truly no need to carry on so. “You gave me a fright thinking something awful had happened,” Mother said, relief tinged with irritation.

“But if my shadow gets stepped on… something bad happens…” “My lifespan shortens…” Oseki’s voice quavered further as tears welled in her eyes. “How could such a foolish thing be true?”

Oyoshi had dismissed it with a single remark, but in truth, among certain people of that time, there did exist legends claiming that having one’s shadow stepped upon brought misfortune. In China too they say one should stay seven feet away and not tread upon one’s teacher’s shadow. Even if it was just a shadow, this legend seemed to have originated from the notion that stepping on a human form demanded restraint—but later, it transformed less into the stepper’s deference than into the stepped-upon’s dread. There came to be those who claimed that having one’s shadow trod upon would turn one’s luck sour, shorten one’s lifespan, or in extreme cases, lead to death within three years. If it were truly so fearsome, one would expect parents everywhere to strictly forbid their children from playing such games. Yet since they didn’t make such a fuss about it, those legends and superstitions must not have been widely held. And yet, for those who believed in it and feared it, whether it was commonly held or not was irrelevant.

“Stop spouting nonsense and get to the back already.” “Don’t go worrying yourself over such trifles.” Scolded by her father and soothed by her mother, Oseki dejectedly retreated to the back room, but the anxiety and terror filling her chest refused to subside. The second floor of Omiya consisted of two rooms—a six-mat and a three-mat space—and Oseki was supposed to sleep in the three-mat room. But tonight, she was startled awake time and again by intense palpitations. She dreamed of several small black shadows leaping upon her chest and stomach.

The next day was the Thirteenth Night, and at Omiya too, following annual custom, they bought silver grass and chestnuts to set before the moon. Tonight's moon shone clear once more.

“What a splendid moon-viewing night this is,” the neighbors remarked. However, Oseki could not help but feel that looking at that moon was somehow frightening. It wasn’t that she feared the moon; it was seeing her own shadow cast in its light that terrified her. While people called it a splendid moon—some gazing upward from second floors, others viewing from shopfronts, still others stepping into streets to admire it—amidst all this, she alone remained shut away inside.

―Shadows and Roadside Deities, Thirteenth Night rice cakes― The children's chanting voices tormented Oseki's fragile soul with relentless persistence.

II

Since then, Oseki ceased going out at night. Particularly on moonlit nights, she grew afraid to venture outside. When circumstances absolutely required nocturnal excursions, she deliberately chose dark evenings without moonlight to go out. This behavior—so contrary to other girls her age—drew her father and mother’s attention, and they repeatedly scolded her: “Are you still fretting over such nonsense?” Yet the terror and unease that had burrowed deep into Oseki’s soul never faded away.

Amidst this turmoil, poor Oseki found herself facing another incident that would startle her through her own shadow. On the thirteenth day of the Twelfth Month that year, as Oseki's household was engaged in year-end cleaning, an apprentice came running from their relatives' shop in Shinmei-mae with news that their elderly aunt had collapsed from sudden illness. These Shinmei-mae relatives were the family into which Oseki's mother's elder sister had married—not only were they fellow thread merchants like Omiya, but there had been private discussions about eventually betrothing their second son Yojirō to Oseki. Hearing of the elderly matriarch's collapse left them no choice but to act. Though someone needed to rush over immediately, with both Father and Mother fully occupied by cleaning duties on this ill-timed day, they resolved to send Oseki as their temporary envoy.

Removing her work sash and pushing back her hair, Oseki left the shop in haste a little past the eighth hour of daylight—just after two o'clock in the afternoon. Her destination was a shop called Ono-ya, where they too were engaged in year-end cleaning that day. In the midst of this, when the seventy-five-year-old aunt had suddenly collapsed, the commotion proved far from ordinary. As there was a four-and-a-half-mat annex at the rear, they carried the emergency patient there and tended to her until she fortunately regained consciousness. Though it was an especially cold day, the elderly woman—relying on her usual vigor—had labored actively alongside the younger workers since dawn, which caused this sudden turn, but there was no need for undue concern. The doctor said she would heal naturally if kept resting quietly. Just as they began to relax at this news, Oseki came rushing in.

“Well, that turned out well enough in the end.” Oseki too felt relieved, but having come all this way, she couldn’t simply leave immediately. As she helped tend to the patient at their bedside, the short days of the Twelfth Month had somehow slipped into evening, and the soot cleaning at Ono-ya’s shop was finished. Having been served soba and then supper, Oseki was set to depart from here a little before eight. “Please give my regards to your father and mother. As you can see, there’s no need to worry anymore—the patient is fine now,” said the Aunt from Ono-ya.

Though it was still early evening, given the turbulent times at year’s end, the aunt ordered her second son Yojirō to escort Oseki home. Oseki initially declined with “There’s no need for that during your busy preparations,” but the aunt insisted “We can’t risk any mishaps,” forcibly sending Yojirō to accompany her. As they left the shop, the aunt called out with a laugh. “Yojirō. Since you’re escorting Oseki-chan home, mind you watch out for shadows and the Roadside Deity.” “This cold—no one’s even out,” Yojirō answered with a laugh.

“No one’s out on the streets in this cold anyway,” Yojirō replied with a laugh. The incident where Oseki’s shadow had been stepped on had indeed occurred on her way back from this very house. As her mother Oyoshi had apparently confided in the aunt that she was distressed about it, everyone in the Ono-ya household knew of it. Yojirō was a fair-skinned, slender nineteen-year-old man, and it could be said that he and Oseki made a well-matched couple. The aunt smiled and saw them off as the future couple walked out side by side, appearing harmonious.

Though she had initially declined, Oseki was truly happy to be escorted by Yojirō. When they too went out laughing, there were shops that had finished their soot cleaning and closed their shutters early that night. There were also shops that had lit lamps throughout their houses, where laughter and chatter could still be heard. On the roofs of those houses, the moonlight lay white as if snow had fallen. Looking up at that moon, Yojirō hunched his shoulders as the night’s cold seeped into his bones.

“There’s no wind, but it’s rather cold.” “It’s quite cold, isn’t it.” “Oseki-chan, look here. The moon’s shining brilliantly.” Urged by Yojirō, Oseki inadvertently looked up—there on the drying rack of the roof across the way hung a single winter moon, shining clear as a cold mirror. “What a lovely dear moon, isn’t it.” Though she had said this, a sudden anxiety welled up in Oseki’s chest. Tonight was December thirteenth—the moon’s presence should have been obvious—but between the flurry of tasks and walking alongside Yojirō, she had forgotten all about it. The bright moon—in stark contrast—Oseki’s heart darkened. As if suddenly shown something terrifying, she averted her face in panic and looked down—and this time saw their two shadows cast upon the ground with dreadful clarity.

At the same moment, Yojirō said as if recalling. “So I hear Oseki-chan doesn’t go out on moonlit nights.” When Oseki remained silent, Yojirō burst out laughing. “Why do you worry about such things? If only I’d come to escort you that night too, I suppose.”

“But I can’t help worrying about it, you see,” said Oseki in a low voice, pleadingly.

“It’s all right,” Yojirō laughed again.

“Do you think it’s all right?”

They were already on Udagawa-chō’s streets. As Yojirō had said, on this bitterly cold night of the twelfth month’s end, not a single child could be seen frolicking about stepping on shadows. Since ancient times men’s and women’s shadow figures were counted ill-omened things—yet Yojirō and Oseki walked pressed close together in a line while casting those very hateful shadows upon the ground. Of course people still came and went along this main thoroughfare—but there existed no spiteful passersby who would deliberately trample those two detested shadow figures underfoot.

It was when they had passed through Udagawa-chō and stepped into Shibai-chō. From a rooftop somewhere, the caw of a crow could be heard.

“Oh, a crow…” Oseki turned toward the sound. “It’s a moonlit crow.” The moment Yojirō said this, two dogs came running out from a nearby alleyway and began frolicking wildly right over Oseki’s shadow. Startled, Oseki dodged aside—whereupon the dogs ran as if pursuing her, frenziedly trampling her shadow all the while. Oseki trembled and clung to Yojirō. “You, hurry and chase them…”

“Damn it!” “Shoo! Shoo!” Though chased by Yojirō, the dogs still clung to Oseki as if possessed, trampling her shadow while leaping wildly about. Yojirō flew into a rage, picked up pebbles at his feet, and struck them two or three times—whereupon the two dogs let out yelps and fled. Oseki was safely escorted back to her home, but that night in her dreams, she saw two dogs dashing about by her pillow.

III

Until now, Oseki had feared moonlit nights; but after that incident, she had come to dread even the daylight. If she went out into the shining sunlight, her shadow would appear on the ground. Because she was terrified that something might trample it, she came to loathe going out into the daylight. Favoring dark nights, dim days, and even dimly lit corners indoors, she naturally became a gloomy person.

This mounting fear culminated until，by around March of the following year，she had come to loathe even lamplight. Be it moonlight，sunlight，or lamplight—she loathed anything that cast her shadow. She feared seeing her own shadow. She even stopped attending her sewing lessons.

“Oseki’s become quite a problem, hasn’t she,” the mother who knew the circumstances would occasionally whisper to her husband, furrowing her brow. “She’s such a troublesome girl.” Yasuke could only sigh, utterly at a loss for what to do. “It must be a kind of illness after all, don’t you think?” said Oyoshi. “Well, I suppose that’s true.”

That reached the ears of the Ono-ya household as well, and the aunt and uncle grew worried. Yojirō, in particular, was deeply distressed. Having accompanied her that second time himself, he felt a sense of responsibility weighing upon him. “While you were right there beside her, why didn’t you chase those dogs away sooner?” Yojirō was even scolded by his own mother.

Oseki had her shadow stepped on for the first time on the Thirteenth Night of September. More than half a year had passed since then, and Oseki was now eighteen while Yojirō had reached twenty with the coming of spring. By prior arrangement, this year was to finalize the marriage plans; yet with the bride-to-be herself now in a state halfway between madness and illness, matters had simply stalled. While Oseki’s parents—and indeed her aunt and uncle—worried incessantly over this impasse, ordinary advice and admonishments alone could never cure Oseki’s affliction.

The Omiya family, acknowledging this as a kind of illness, had taken out the reluctant girl herself to have two or three doctors examine her; yet none could render a definitive diagnosis, offering only that it was likely melancholia—a malady common enough in girls of her age. Around that time, Ono-ya’s eldest son—that is, Yojirō’s elder brother—had heard tell of an esteemed ascetic in Shitaya; however, Yojirō did not believe in such things.

“That’s what they say a fox-user is.” “Ask someone like that for prayers, and you’ll just get a fox spirit possessing you instead.”

“No, that ascetic isn’t like that.” “Most madnesses can be cured if they receive his prayers just once.” Their brothers’ vehement arguing had reached their mother’s ears, and when she passed this information to the Omiya parents regardless, the anguished Yasuke and his wife were immensely relieved. Yet thinking their daughter would surely refuse if taken there immediately, the couple resolved to first visit the ascetic themselves and hear his counsel.

That was at the beginning of June in the second year of Kaei, a dark day when this year's rainy season had not yet fully cleared.

The ascetic’s house stood in the backstreets of Gojō no Tenjin, its front facade not particularly wide but the structure extending to an astonishing depth—a quality that made the place feel all the more dimly oppressive during these rainy days of early summer. It was unclear what deity it was, but in the inner room where it was enshrined, two candles were burning. The ascetic was an old man who appeared to be over sixty, and after listening in detail to Yasuke and his wife about their daughter, he closed his eyes and pondered for a while.

“To fear one’s own shadow oneself—that is a most curious matter.” “In any case, I shall give you this candle.” “You should take this and return home.”

The ascetic took out one of the candles glowing before the altar. He instructed them to light the candle during tonight's Hour of the Rat (midnight) and observe their daughter's shadow cast upon a wall or shoji screen. If some possessing spirit had taken hold of the girl, he explained, its shadow would manifest clearly even if its form remained invisible. Should a fox be possessing her, a fox's shadow would undoubtedly appear. If a demon was the culprit, a demon would show itself. "Observe this shadow and report back to me," he said, "and I shall devise an appropriate course of action." He placed the candle into a small plain wooden box, chanted what sounded like an incantation over it, then solemnly presented it to Yasuke.

“We are most grateful.” The couple bowed deeply and returned home.

The rain had grown heavier since evening, and occasionally the sound of thunder could be heard. They had thought this would finally end the rainy season, but to Yasuke and his wife tonight, the sound of rain and thunder felt somehow unnervingly fierce.

The couple had thought it would be troublesome to explain things beforehand, so they did not reveal anything to their daughter. As they always closed shop at four (10 p.m.), they put the household to bed as usual that night. Oseki slept in the three-tatami-mat room on the second floor.

The couple with secrets weighing on their hearts feigned sleep while waiting for the night to deepen, until at last the bell tolled midnight—the Hour of the Rat. Taking this as their signal, they quietly ascended the stairs. Yasuke clutched his candle.

When they slid open the fusuma door to the three-mat room upstairs and peered inside, Oseki lay fast asleep tonight as though utterly spent. Oyoshi gently roused her, settling the half-conscious girl upright on her bedding—whereupon Oseki's shadow swayed thinly across the gray-plastered wall. For Yasuke's candle-bearing hand quivered faintly as he held it out. The couple fixed fearful gazes upon the wall, where only their daughter's shadow lay etched. No horned demon's silhouette stretched there, no sharp-muzzled fox-shape flickered at its edges.

IV The couple, appearing relieved, first let out a sigh of relief. They stealthily laid the girl—who was glancing around dazedly as though perplexed—back down to sleep and tiptoed their way downstairs from the second floor.

The next day, when Yasuke alone visited the ascetic of Shitaya again, the aged ascetic was once more deep in thought. "Then even I have no means to perform prayers." Rebuffed, Yasuke too found himself at a loss.

“Then… is there truly no way to request your prayers?” he entreated with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," said the aged ascetic. "This lies beyond my power." "But since you've troubled yourself to come repeatedly," he continued while passing another candle across worn tatami mats slick with summer humidity, "you may attempt once more." "Do not kindle this flame tonight." "Count one hundred nights from today - mark well it must be during again at midnight's Hour of Rat." Though privately deeming three months' wait absurdly prolonged for his daughter's wasting condition,Yasuke found no courage to protest before this revered figure whose beard still bore traces of last week's ritual ash. He accepted both candle and injunction with bowed head before retracing his path through Shitaya's unlit alleys where thunder growled like distant temple drums.

Given these circumstances, Oseki’s wedding was naturally postponed. Yojirō privately seethed with indignation, believing it wrong to place faith in such an ascetic, yet crushed by the pressure from those around him, he had no choice but to submit to it resignedly. “Why don’t we have her undergo waterfall therapy somewhere this summer?” Yojirō said. He attempted to persuade the Omiya couple to take Oseki to either Ōji or Meguro Falls, but while her parents might have been swayed, Oseki herself adamantly refused to go out, and so the plan ultimately came to nothing.

The heat of this summer was exceptional, and Oseki’s summer emaciation had become strikingly noticeable. Confined solely to inner rooms that never saw daylight, her lack of exercise and accompanying loss of appetite increasingly exhausted her, until she had become like a living ghost.

Those unaware of the truth whispered she must have consumption. In the meantime, summer had passed, autumn had come, and it was now September—the month that marked autumn's end in the old calendar. The Hundredth Day instructed by the ascetic fell upon September twelfth. This revelation came as no new knowledge. When first receiving the ascetic's instructions, Yasuke and his wife had immediately counted forward and recognized this date would align with Thirteenth Night's eve. That Oseki's shadow had first been trampled on last year's Thirteenth Night eve—and now this ordained hundredth day coincided precisely with its anniversary—cast a shadow of dread over her parents' hearts. This time they feared the candlelight might truly unveil some supernatural horror; thus while gripped by inexpressible unease yet spurred by that morbid curiosity people call 'disaster gazing,' the couple found themselves yearning for the day's swift arrival.

September 12th came at last. That night’s moon shone as brightly as it had the year before.

The next thirteenth day too dawned clear from morning. A weak earthquake struck a little before noon. Around eight (2 p.m.), the aunt from Ono-ya came to the neighborhood and stopped by Omiya's shop. Having been called, Oseki emerged from the back rooms and gave her aunt a proper greeting. When the aunt prepared to leave, Oyoshi saw her out to the front entrance and whispered in the street. “Oseki’s hundredth day was last night.” “That’s precisely why I came to see for myself,” the Aunt murmured back. “So... has anything changed?”

“Well, you see, Sis,” Oyoshi said, glancing over her shoulder as she drew closer. “Last night too, at nine [midnight], we sneaked to Oseki’s bedside, lifted her up while she was drowsy and dazed—then my husband held up the candle, and… a skeleton’s shadow appeared on the wall…”

Oyoshi’s voice trembled. The aunt’s face paled.

“What? The skeleton’s shadow…” “You’re not mistaken… are you?”

“Because it was so strange, I stared at it closely—but there was no mistaking it for anything but a skeleton, and I grew more and more frightened. Not just me—since my husband saw the same thing, it can’t be a lie.”

“Oh…” The aunt sighed. “Does she not know about it?” “She was so dreadfully drowsy and fell right back asleep—it seems she knows nothing at all.” “Even so, what could possibly make a skeleton appear like that?” “Did you go to Shitaya and ask?” the Aunt inquired. “My husband went to Shitaya at dawn and told him,” Oyoshi said, her voice thickening. “But the venerable ascetic just sat silent in thought, saying even he couldn’t make sense of it.” “Does he truly not understand—or does he understand but won’t say? Which do you suppose it is?”

“Who can say?” The aunt imagined that even if he did understand, he likely wouldn’t say so. Oyoshi too seemed to think so. If that were indeed the case, then it could only mean something terrible. If it were something good, there would be no reason to hide it—anyone could reason that.

The two women exchanged somber looks and stood rooted in the middle of the thoroughfare for a while, while above their heads, white clouds flowed high across the blue sky.

Oyoshi soon began to cry.

“Will Oseki die?” The aunt too did not know how to answer. While he too harbored more than enough fear in his heart, he had no choice but to offer whatever makeshift comfort he could.

When the aunt returned home and told of this, Yojirō grew angry again.

“Uncle and Aunt from Omiya are being utterly unreasonable!” “How much longer will they keep believing in some fox-controlling ascetic?” “By pulling these stunts to terrify us, they’re clearly scheming to extort exorbitant prayer fees in the end.” “Can they really not see through something so obvious?” “Even if you say that,” retorted the brother, “the proof’s right there—didn’t a strange shadow appear exactly on the hundredth night?”

“That’s just the ascetic using a fox!”

Once again, the brothers’ quarrel had begun, but even the parents of Ono-ya could not mediate it. The elder brother who believed in the ascetic and the younger brother who disbelieved were ultimately engaged in nothing but a futile argument; though their debate naturally petered out once evening meal commenced, Yojirō’s heart remained unsettled. After finishing his evening meal, going to the neighborhood public bath, and returning home, tonight’s moon had risen vividly.

“What a fine Thirteenth Night,” the neighbors too came out to the front. Among them, there were also those who clasped their hands in prayer.

Thirteenth Night—when he thought of it, Yojirō found himself unable to stay settled at home. He listlessly left the shop and made his way to Omiya in Shibaichō.

“Is Oseki-chan here?” “Yes,” Mother Oyoshi answered. “She’s in the back.” “Could you call her for me?” Yojirō said. “Oseki!” “Yō-chan has come.” Called by her mother, Oseki came out from the back. Tonight’s Oseki, who had done her makeup more beautifully than usual, appeared even more striking in the moonlight.

“The moon’s lovely tonight. Why don’t we go out front to pay our respects?” Yojirō invited. Contrary to their expectation that she would likely refuse, Oseki obediently came out to the front, leaving her parents puzzled. Yojirō also felt somewhat taken aback. However, he had resolved to bring Oseki out before the bright moon and instill in her a habit of not fearing its light. Seizing this opportunity, the two set off walking together. Her parents also happily sent her out.

The young man and woman walked toward Kanasugi, the cold autumn night breeze rustling gently through their sleeves. The moonlight was as bright as day.

“Oseki-chan. Walking on such a moonlit night must feel pleasant,” Yojirō said.

Oseki remained silent. “As I said that other night, you shouldn’t dwell on such trifling things.” “That’s why you get gloomy and your health worsens, making your father and mother worry like this.” “So to forget all that, why don’t we walk until late tonight?” “Yes,” Oseki answered in a low voice. ——Shadows, roadside deities, Thirteenth Night botamochi—— The children’s chant was heard again. It was around the time they had walked about a block from Omiya’s shopfront.

“Even if children come, it doesn’t matter. It’s better to stay calm and let them trample it as much as they like,” Yojirō said encouragingly.

A group of about ten children came out from the side street as one. They approached the two while singing in unison, but Yojirō, gripping Oseki’s right hand firmly with one hand, deliberately walked on with feigned composure. Then the children—who had likely drawn near to trample their shadows—suddenly let out a cry and scattered in all directions at once.

“A monster! A monster!”

They fled, each crying out as they ran. Even as they approached to trample the shadow—likely thinking to scare them further by shouting such things, emboldened by his apparent composure—Yojirō glanced behind himself. Until now, walking southward, he had noticed nothing, but there on the ground behind them fell two diagonal shadows: one unmistakably his own, the other a skeleton’s shadow. Yojirō gasped in shock. Even while he had been deriding the ascetic as a fox-summoner, now confronted with that shadow in reality, he was suddenly struck by an inexplicable terror. The children’s cries of “monster” had not been lies.

Yojirō, seized by sudden terror that obliterated all sense of before and after, shook off Oseki’s hand—which until this moment he had gripped so firmly—and fled back toward Shibaichō half in a frenzy. Startled by the report, Oseki’s parents rushed there with Yojirō and found Oseki had been struck by a diagonal slash from her right shoulder and lay collapsed in the middle of the thoroughfare.

According to the neighbors’ account, after Yojirō had fled, a lone samurai happened to pass by, suddenly drew his sword, cut Oseki down, and departed. Early evening though it was, a random slaying seemed unthinkable on this moonlit night. That samurai too, upon seeing the strange shadow cast on the ground, may have immediately cut her down.

That Oseki had feared her own shadow might have been a portent of this outcome—the parents of Omiya lamented. Yojirō raged that the ascetic had used a fox to show them such an uncanny spectacle.

But there was no one who could give a certain explanation. Such a strange incident had occurred—it was merely passed down through society as nothing more than that.